


The First Spell of the Just

by Dawen



Series: King Edmund the Magician [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied Execution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawen/pseuds/Dawen
Summary: It was nearly six months after the coronation, after Edmund started giving real, serious thought to learning magic, when the idea for his First Spell came to him. He already knew what sort of magic he wanted to do – he wanted a spell that would help him live up to Aslan’s title.King Edmund the Just.(First Spells have a lot of power, and if Edmund's going to learn magic, he needs to get this right.)





	The First Spell of the Just

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What Might Have Been, What May Yet Be](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012076) by [Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Culmer). 



When Edmund took the upper portion of the White Witch's wand, he wrapped it up in at least three layers of clothing and stowed it at the bottom of his pack. He didn't want anyone else to find it, to accuse him, before he could sort through his thoughts and, perhaps, talk to Aslan.

When Aslan gave Edmund his blessing on learning magic and using the wand, he took it out of the pack, unwrapped the top two layers, and settled the shard of wand (still wrapped in his English shirt) into a small wooden box. The box went into the bottom drawer of his armoire, covered by winter clothes that he wouldn't need for months. It still needed a new handle, and Edmund knew he had to be the one to build it, but first - well, first he needed to learn how.

When the royal history tutor taught a lesson on Princess Helen, fourth of that name, who was the first Human to use magic and used it wisely, Edmund discreetly asked if anyone still knew any of her hard-earned knowledge. Within the week, he went before the Parliament of Owls, learned that there were, in fact, several types of magic (and that runic seemed to be best suited to the wand), and had gotten one Owl to agree to teach him the runic magic to repair, reclaim, and use the wand. The next day, Edmund had extra lessons on top of holding court and the other lessons he shared with the others, and it was then that he learned he was very lucky to have chosen to take the upper bit of the wand instead of the handle.

"It's the seat of the power, Sire," his teacher said. She was a middle-aged Tawny Owl named Nightmantle; Edmund had decided an Owl for a teacher was a good stroke of luck because his magic lessons would have to be in the evening, anyway. He still wasn't sure how to tell anyone that he was learning magic with the Witch's wand. "There is some magic in the handle of a wand - protections and the like - but most of the raw power comes from the rest; taking her handle wouldn't have done you a bit of good. You'll have to make yourself known to the wand, of course, since it once belonged to another magician, and an enemy one at that..."

"How would I go about that?" Edmund asked.

Nightmantle clacked her beak with good humor. "The simplest and least painful method is to bleed on it, Majesty." Edmund grimaced; drawing blood was the _least_ painful? "One drop rubbed into each rune will do, it doesn't take very much at all."

Once Edmund knew the procedure, fashioning a new handle was simple. That was not to say that fashioning a new handle was  _easy;_ it sapped Edmund's strength and for a good while he kept falling asleep in lessons and boring meetings. Within two weeks of beginning work proper, however, the handle was done, with small runes etched in straight double lines on each side.

He included a small carving of a stylized lion, to remind himself of what sort of magic he should do, and what sort he should avoid.

But once the new handle was completed, Edmund wrapped the wand up in his English shirt and stowed it away in the armoire again, until he was ready to actually try a spell.

~

The First Spell, Nightmantle told him, was held to be symbolic of the nature his magic would take. Princess Helen the Fourth, for example, had started with a rain spell to end a long drought and weather magic was the kind she was best at for the rest of her life. Many held a magician's First Spell to be prophetic rather than symbolic, but there had been a small handful of exceptions and so Nightmantle believed that Edmund's First Spell did not necessarily determine the path that his magic would take for the rest of his life.

Edmund wanted it to be a good spell from a branch of magic with lots of promise, just in case Nightmantle was wrong.

~

The longer Edmund left the finished wand in his armoire drawer, the longer the knowledge of it itched at the back of his mind. He wanted to use it. He wanted to draw power from it, make possible a thing that previously was impossible. There were times when he could hardly concentrate in his room because the knowledge of the wand itched at his mind so badly.

The more it itched at him, the more determined he became to find the best possible First Spell. Aslan's blessing to learn magic and use the wand did not mean he would never fall into the same hole that the White Witch had, after all. 

It was nearly six months after the coronation, after Edmund started giving real, serious thought to learning magic, when the idea for his First Spell came to him. He already knew what sort of magic he wanted to do - he wanted a spell that would help him live up to Aslan's title.

King Edmund the Just.

It was rare that Edmund felt like he fulfilled it.

He had spoken to Nightmantle about this idea, and she had been immediately enthusiastic - she thought it was the greatest idea for a First Spell since Princess Helen's. They had discussed various ways he could make a spell that upheld that purpose, but none of them felt quite right and so Edmund had not committed to any.

Until one day in the middle of Narnia's first natural winter in a century, when the four royal children were convened with the generals of the army and some concerned citizens from the Northern Marshes. For the first time, known followers of the White Witch were seen in Narnia without starting a battle, and a decision was needed as to what to do with them. Until such a decision was made, they were being held prisoner at a small holding on the coastal edge of the marsh.

As Edmund had learned to expect from such a large gathering, the discussion seemed to go around in circles and nothing was decided before supper. The loudest voice was calling for immediate execution, however, and the very thought made Edmund's skin crawl. He knew he once would have been among the people this discussion was about.

"Edmund," Susan murmured to him as they dismissed a half hour before supper. "Would you walk with me a bit?"

Edmund blinked at her. Normally she liked to go off with Lucy after long meetings like this one. "Of course. Where to?"

Susan linked her arm with his and smiled, starting to drag him away from the others. "The formal garden, I should think."

Edmund swallowed. The formal garden had only a handful of Dryads, as most Dryads weren't all that formal. All of them would be asleep at this time of year. Whatever Susan wanted to talk about, it was delicate and she wanted that invisible sort of privacy that came from being alone in a public space.

They strapped on their outdoor winter clothes and left their guard at the entrance to the garden. Edmund glanced up at Susan as they began meandering through the white-covered paths. She had a furrow between her eyes. He squeezed her hand a bit and murmured, "What is it, Su?"

She squeezed back and sighed. "I don't like this sort of thing," she murmured. "It's one thing in battle, but quite another to just... talk of execution. I understand it's necessary to secure the country, but... well. There doesn't seem to be much of a court system here, you know."

So she was going to talk to each sibling alone before they reconvened tomorrow. "I know," Edmund murmured, staring straight ahead. "There really isn't. I don't like Lualus's proposal to kill them all. There's two kinds of traitors in Narnia, after all, and we really ought to know who is which kind." He paused, thinking, then amended: "Possibly three kinds."

Susan's lips pursed. "Two or three kinds of traitors? What do you mean? A traitor is a traitor, Edmund."

Edmund shrugged and ducked under the heavy branches of a sleeping maple. "Right now we're using traitor to mean someone who was under the White Witch's employ," he murmured. "Didn't you hear Oreius's litany of names? Some of them stayed well away from anything to do with her for the entire last year of her reign. Anyway, I've got two betrayals in my past."

Susan frowned. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do," Edmund corrected softly. "Once when I betrayed you and Lucy and Peter, and then once when I betrayed the White Witch and fought for Aslan." He tilted his head up and held Susan's eyes without breaking stride. "Her loyal followers consider that very much a betrayal, Susan.  _She_  considered that very much a betrayal. That I'm proud of it doesn't diminish that my loyalty changed.  _And_ ," Edmund continued firmly before Susan could get a word in edgewise, "I'm not the only one who started out loyal to her but ended up fighting for Aslan. What about Mr. Tumnus? Lucy says he was being paid from her treasury to watch for and kidnap any Humans who stumbled into Narnia. And then he met Lucy and couldn't do it. By Lualus's definition of a traitor, both Mr. Tumnus and I still count. We can't possibly be the only ones."

Susan nodded thoughtfully, gripping Edmund's arm a little tighter. He could tell she was thinking the same as he - how close they had come to Edmund being under the same threat. "What's the third kind, then?"

"Oh, well - we know there were resistance groups, right? I'm sure some were brave enough to try a little double crossing. So they would have never been loyal to her at all, not like the first kind of traitor or like the second."

Susan gave a small, wry little smile. "But they would have been employed by her. Wouldn't their resistance groups have helped them integrate, after Beruna?"

"Of course, _if_ the group got there in time."

Susan sighed and nodded, stopping at a bend in the path. From here, the ocean was visible, waves dancing in the moonlight. "It would be nice," she murmured, "if there were a way we could tell which prisoner is which kind of traitor all at once, without a drawn-out trial filled with lies."

Edmund's eyes went round, staring out at the ocean. "Yes," he breathed, "it would."

After supper, when Susan was talking with Peter, Edmund burst into Nightmantle's study excitedly. "I know what my First Spell will be!"

~

It took much longer to craft the spell than it had to craft the wand handle, but Nightmantle assured Edmund that once crafted, he could use it whenever he needed to - it was not a one-use-only spell, or even a spell that would only work on one person. Edmund suspected that he could have had the spell finished in two months, if he had been able to work on it for hours every day.

Instead he still had lessons, and court, and eventually the trials for the captured Fell creatures - Susan and Edmund had managed to persuade the council to suspend execution until the accused were proven to remain traitors to Narnia and to Aslan. While Edmund was proud of that, and knew it was the right thing (already one Bat had been granted mercy), he also knew that as batches of prisoners were brought south to Cair Paravel for the trials, he was losing hours each day tied up in those trials. Some of that time was taken from other responsibilities that were put on hold while the four tried to work through such a large number of accused, but most came from what precious little private time they had.

(Edmund thought he wouldn't have been so eager to accept the Witch's offer of princedom, if he had known quite how much  _work_  went into running an entire country.)

So he was getting very little sleep. The rumors from the northwestern border were getting stronger again, and as a result General Oreius was training both kings all the harder. The trials started at three in the afternoon and it was not unheard of for them to continue past midnight, even if only two monarchs were attending at one time so that the other two could see to other duties. Lessons were holding less interest, and it was easier to fall asleep during them. Edmund was physically and mentally exhausted.

But every once in a while, he felt a spark during his spellcrafting session - a spark of magic, or of inspiration, or of satisfaction, Edmund wasn't sure.

It made all of this worth it.

~

Perhaps three months into the spellcrafting process, Edmund stared down at his parchment and worried his lips with the tip of his quill. Nightmantle was nearby, browsing through books she thought might help him. She wasn't taking a very active role in this - spellcrafting in general tended to be a personal task, and spellcrafting a First Spell was even more so.

All the same, Edmund cleared his throat. "Nightmantle?"

"Yes, Majesty?" Her head rotated on her neck to look at him.

"Do... do you think this idea is truly Just?" Edmund asked. "Being able to peer into another person's mind and soul? Laying bare one of their innermost secrets?"

Nightmantle blinked once, settled a bookmark in the book held open with her talons, and then flapped over to perch on the edge of Edmund's desk to look at his parchment. "Well, now," she murmured. "My king, that depends on how you build the spell. Look, see how these runes are clustered? Deitfosa next to Isasy and an inverted Uifrari underneath them?" Edmund nodded; it had been one of Nightmantle's first recommendations. "They are the very backbone of your spell. Do you know why I suggested these three runes in this placement, Majesty?"

Edmund frowned a bit. "It has to do with how I perceive the information. Because Isasy is there."

Nightmantle clacked her beak. "Indeed. Isasy shows that you will hear it, as though it were spoken into your ear. Deitfosa shows what sort of information is collected, as it is primarily associated with loyalty." Edmund nodded along with her words. "Inverted Uifrari is really the most important bit, though, I should think. It is magic itself."

Edmund glanced up at her, frowning. He knew quite a bit about regular Uifrari, and some on what inversion did to runes in general, but this was the first time Nightmantle had spoken about inverted Uifrari so starkly. "Isn't it dangerous to invoke it, then?"

"In most uses, yes," Nightmantle murmured, sounding pleased. "In the backbone array, however, it is positioned so that it indicates who or what is doing the spell. By using it, Sire, you are showing that you, as spellcaster, are almost entirely passive in this piece of magic."

"And that's good?"

Nightmantle turned her head away from the parchment to meet Edmund's eye. The feathers on her back fluffed up and ruffled with amusement. "It takes less strength from you, King Edmund, so that you might use it more frequently. More important to this discussion, however, is that it means _you_  will not be 'peering' into anything - the Magic will, and report back to you only what you ask to know."

Edmund set his quill down and rubbed his eyes wearily. "So I won't be hearing anything but whether the... accused is loyal to me?"

"Asking about loyalty to a specific person is beyond the scope of this backbone array," Nightmantle said, looking back to the parchment, "but you have added other runes already that show that you are correct. See, down here, where two Dietfosas bracket two Cealgiyas, which in turn bracket an Otess. You are placing loyalty to your family by Cealgiya, and extending it to your country by Otess."

"We are the rulers," Edmund interjected, a small smile pulling at his mouth. "Threatening Narnia _is_  threatening us."

"Rightly so, Sire," Nightmantle agreed promptly. "In essence, then, you are correct. The Magic will sift through for information on the loyalty of the accused, and report back to you only if it finds something directly impacting you, your royal siblings, or Narnia as a whole."

Edmund nodded thoughtfully. "What about someone who's not a purposeful traitor?" he asked. 

"I'm not sure I rightly understand your meaning, Sire."

"Well..." Edmund trailed off, trying to find the proper words. "Maybe - maybe someone who's just a little loose-lipped when they've had too much wine? It would be easy for a true enemy to get such a person drunk and then pump them for information. I shouldn't think such a person should be punished by execution for that. Or perhaps someone who isn't the best judge of character?"

Nightmantle warbled softly like a far-off woodpecker, which Edmund had come to recognize as her "hold on, I'm thinking" noise. "You are asking the difference between conscious and unconscious treachery, King Edmund?"

"I - I suppose," Edmund answered uncertainly.

"Well, then. There's nothing here now about that, Majesty, so I would expect the spell would make no such differentiation." Nightmantle turned her body as well as her head to look Edmund in the eye, which was his cue to pay close attention. She looked amused and excited; it really wasn't hard at all to see that she enjoyed teaching runic magic. "So you shall simply have to add some."

~

Eight months later, with the spell finally finished, Edmund tucked his wand into his left sleeve and slipped out of the castle, heading for the most recent batch of prisoners on foot. The prisoners came down from the Northern Marshes in groups of five, and were held in a tiny prison house which was located a scant mile north of Cair Paravel, built into the rock cliffs on the shore. Lucy, who was his trial partner today, would be leaving in another hour or two.

The small holding where the Fell creatures were kept was damp and a little cramped, but it was a welcome sight to break up the monotony of the harsh cliffs. Inside, the prisoners were... well, perhaps not quite treated  _well_ , but they were kept fed and watered and given blankets at night, which was more than Edmund had expected the faithful Narnians to be willing to do for accused traitors. Edmund strode up to the entrance and nodded to the Badger and the Faun standing guard, who had bowed their heads when he approached.

"I want to see the prisoner called Idomius," Edmund announced as soon as he was in distance. The Badger, Poddreamer, said, "Of course, Your Majesty," and led him into the prison.

Idomius was one of the few who was held in a cell by himself, mostly because the Minotaur was too large to be able to share a cell with another Fell creature. Poddreamer took up her station at the end of the hallway, giving Edmund some semblance of privacy while still being near enough to help Edmund if it became necessary. Out of the corner of his eye, Edmund could see that she kept one paw on her sword. Edmund himself stood squarely in front of the cell grate, his feet planted and his arms crossed over his chest. 

Idomius raised his head to glare at Edmund, and started to snarl. At the end of the hallway, Edmund was vaguely aware of Poddreamer partially unsheathing her sword. Quick as lightning, though, Edmund's right hand snuck up his left sleeve and gripped the reassuringly warm wood of his wand's handle, and then - by accident - the image of his runes crystallized in his mind; his mind and body and wand all connected into one flow, and the spell was cast.

_Traitor_ , a quiet voice whispered in Edmund's mind.  _This creature is not loyal to you or yours._

Edmund took a startled step back, eyes wide, as Idomius followed through on his snarl.  _He would have you killed_ , the voice whispered, not getting any stronger. Edmund could not place it - could not even tell if the voice was of a woman or a man or a child.  _He would have your family killed. Your subjects. This creature is a traitor and no friend of yours._

Without a word, Edmund turned on his heel and fled.

~

Edmund sat on a small rock outcropping, staring out to sea and balanced precariously, trying to sort through his whirling thoughts. The voice unsettled him, especially the fact that he could not place it. When he had been spellcrafting, neck-deep in the theory, he had thought the voice would be a familiar one - Aslan, maybe, or Dad, or Peter. Someone he looked up to, someone he could trust.

He wasn't sure if he could trust the voice he actually got.

Nightmantle was nearby, holing up somewhere in one of the outbuildings in case he ran into trouble with his spell. He could seek her out, talk to her. Make sure that his wand was truly  _his_  now, and that the voice he'd created was loyal to him instead of the White Witch. Taking one last, trembling breath, Edmund stood up to do exactly that. He had an extra hour before Lucy arrived, after all.

He spent a good four nights going over his wand carefully with Nightmantle to make sure its allegiance lay only with him. After the testing and precise measurements and slow progress, they had determined that the wand and its magic answered to Edmund and Edmund only. By then he and Lucy had sorted through three other Fell beasts, and Lucy had gone down to see Idomius even though his trial had not yet started. On the fifth night, Edmund tucked his wand up his sleeve again and let Nightmantle ride on his shoulder, and once again requested Poddreamer to take him to see Idomius.

If anyone besides Aslan himself could wring a change of heart from a Fell loyal to the Witch, Edmund knew it was Lucy.

This time Edmund did not let the Minotaur rise before he cast his spell. He stood in front of the cell, shoulders crooked from the weight of Nightmantle on one side, arms uneven with one shoved up the sleeve of the other, legs spread a little too wide for a truly stable stance. The voice came back immediately, whispering into his mind's ear, and Edmund listened carefully.  _Traitor,_  it breathed; it felt familiar now but Edmund couldn't tell if it was taking form or just familiar from the first time he cast the spell.  _Your family is not safe around this creature. He is not loyal to you or yours._

"Would you give me mercy, as you gave Ozrim the Bat?" Idomius snarled, starting to rise and apparently completely unaware of the spell. He didn't look like he relished the thought of being let free.

Edmund took a deep breath. He righted his legs and planted them firmly a little less than hip-distance apart, consciously straightened and squared his shoulders. Nightmantle fluttered her wings a bit to keep stable as her perch moved underneath her. Edmund tilted his chin up, holding his head high and holding eye contact with Idomius. His arms dropped to his sides, loose and open, every inch a King in command. Then he spoke to Poddreamer.

"Execute him," King Edmund the Just said, voice cold and level, maintaining contact with hard eyes in Narnia's dingy little prison. "He is an enemy of Narnia and of Aslan, and he does not deserve to see the dawn."

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's very poetic that the first story I post here is not only a fanfic, but one based off of someone else's fanfic. The power of fandom, people. :P
> 
> This was inspired directly by What Might Have Been, What May Yet Be by Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling) – I just couldn’t stop thinking about what Edmund would do with the wand once he had it, and they kindly gave me permission to post this. My ideas regarding how the Pevensies’ days are filled comes from elecktrum, who does some phenomenal action/adventure/angst stuff (I read like half her Golden Age fics in a week, which is saying something and probably why it crept in here). The names for the runes and OC Narnians came from fantasynamegenerators.com, which has a section for Narnian names (nicely divided into subsections by species) and a language name generator, among many, many others. If you’re in need of names, go check them out. It’s pretty amazing and I think I’m in love.
> 
> Tawny owls really do make a warbling noise like a muted woodpecker, which I learned at http://www.godsownclay.com/TawnyOwls/Calls/tawnyowlcalls1.html On Earth it seems to be a noise of nerves, which I think is probably as close as dumb animals get to a Talking Animal’s “hey I’m thinking” noise.


End file.
